The Dark Knight
by riokoto
Summary: An in depth retelling of Christopher Nolan's 'The Dark Knight', except with one added guest —Harleen Quinzel. (Rated T for now)


**!A FEW NOTES BEFORE THE CHAPTER:**  
As you've probably figured out by the description, this story is going to be a re-telling of the Dark Knight, except this time, Harley Quinn will be making her appearance. Now, since—once again—this is a re-telling of the Dark Knight, the story is still going to stay the same, and everything that happened is still going to happen, the only difference being that Harley Quinn will be present.

What this means is that, basically, most scenes that had the Joker in it, she'll also be appearing in (tastefully, I hope. I won't just be plopping her there for the sake of her being there). And due to her presence in the scene, it obviously won't play out exactly as it did in the movie, as you'll find out by reading this chapter. Like I said, story will stay the same, but now Harley gets a chance to grace the Dark Knight with her presence, which I know all we Harley Quinn fans were dying for.

Also, this won't be strictly just sticking to the scenes that the movie shows. I'll be adding extra scenes (like I do in this chapter) to explain what the Joker (and Harley) had been doing leading up to certain scenes in the movie, and whatnot.

So anyway, I hope you like it, and it would really, really mean a lot of you guys review! This isn't just coming out of my ass, like it usually does. I have several scenes from the movie open in my tabs, and the full movie in another tab, so that I can get the quotes and scenes right. It's a lot of work, haha, so I'd love some feedback from you guys. Know that it isn't wasted effort, y'know?

Anyway, enough about me.

(also, if you want to have a better visualization of what Harley's dress looks like, there'll be a link to it at the end of the chapter.)

And onto the story!

* * *

_So all you sick and the bitterness of the lonely_  
_To all you overdosed and you miles of coke fiends.  
And every step, another step you're walking on my dreams.  
Every breath, another breath, you're breathing when I breathe._

_I watch them all come, gotta watch the rest go._  
_I'm married to the devil, in the city of angels._  
_So come all you wicked, to the world of the empty._  
_I know I need it all, so baby don't tempt me._

_I'm knockin' on your door, nope, nobody sent me._  
_Just checkin' all you bitches, like I'm checkin' this check sheet._  
_So put your hats on, Lohner don't get soft._

_**You can see God when I take my mask off.  
**__  
-Hollywood Undead, "We Are"_

* * *

A monochrome truck sped through the streets of Gotham, causing anyone standing or walking near it to look over in annoyance as it passed. It was going far too fast for any pedestrians to see inside, but if they somehow _did_ manage to catch a glimpse of the crew inside, they would definitely do a double take.

The two front seats were filled by two men—the driver, in a happy clown mask, and the passenger, in a grumpy looking one. As If that wouldn't have been odd enough for the spectator, if you managed to get a peek into the backseat, you'd see an attractive blonde woman, who looked to be in her mid twenties, and had her blonde hair styled into two pigtails that drooped limply on her shoulders. That sight alone may not be an odd one, but the combination was something to think about.

"There he is. Stop." The pig-tailed girl, Harley Quinn, barked to the driver. The happy clown spared her a glance, only giving her a gruff slur of what sounded like annoyed acknowledgement as he slammed his foot on the breaks. The vehicle came to a screeching halt in front of the man they were to pick up, jostling the car's inhabitants slightly, before a new body was added.

As soon as the new masked man had thrown his duffel bag onto the seat (which Harley had caught clumsily and shoved into the back) and scrambled into the car, he hardly had time to close the door before the truck was speeding off once again. The new addition settled in next to Harley, and she scooted over, making room for him.

"Three of a kind, let's do this," The happy-faced clown in the driver's side said to the one beside him, ignoring the two in the back. The new addition, who had a rather pouty looking clown on his mask, began loading his gun, hardly paying them any mind.

"That's it? Three guys?" The grumpy-faced clown asked, looking back to the driver.

"Two guys on the roof," The driver explained, holding up his index and middle finger as he drove, "Every guy gets his share; five shares is plenty."

"Six shares," The grumpy one added. "Don't forget the guy who planned the job."

"He thinks he can sit it out and still take a slice?" The driver asked rhetorically, clearly annoyed. "I _know_ why they call him the Joker."

At this, Harley, who had been helping the man sitting next to her get the guns ready, turned to look at the driver. She could just barely see his eyes through the holes of his mask as she stared at him through the rear-view mirror.

"_Do_ you? Why don't you share?" She challenged, not expecting an answer. The driver only shrugged, looking back at her once more before back to the road.

"Yeah, I _do_. And I've had enough sharing for one day, actually," He snipped, using a much stronger voice than the one he had been using when he spoke to the other man—he was obviously, Harley knew, acting superior to her because of their genders.

"And why you even here, doll? You get lost or something? Need me to drop you off at the mall?"

The man sitting beside Harley leaned his head back on the seat, tilting his head up at the ceiling as if exasperated. Or tired. Harley, on the other hand, only smiled.

"Actually," She began, giving him a nasty look because her own half-happy, half-sad clown mask was still in her lap, "You can drop me off _after_ I get my share. I'll need some money for the mall, won't I?"

The driver apparently gave up talking to her after that, and Harley shrugged, completely fine with that. He was most likely going to be dead come the end of the afternoon, anyhow.

The two in the front continued talking, about her, too, despite the fact that she was right behind them. They were genuinely confused on why she was there, and where she even came from. Harley only chuckled at their confusion.

They were almost at the bank, and the blonde reached over to the duffel bag that the man beside her had brought with him, blindly feeling around until she felt what she was looking for.

Harley pulled out three containers of greasepaint—one white, one red, and one black, and then turned to the man beside her.

"So, that Joker guy. Anybody even know what he looks like?" The driver asked nobody in particular, but everybody knew it was for the grumpy masked clown beside him.

"Nah, I got the job through an…acquaintance. 'Sides, who _cares_ what he looks like? From what I hear, I 'unno if I'd even _want_ to see him. Heard he wears clown _make-up_, too." And then they both laughed, though the two in the back paid them no mind once more—the man, getting more guns ready, and the woman, unscrewing lids off of the greasepaint containers.

Once Harley had them open, the man beside her turned to face her, lifting his pouty clown mask so that it rested on the top of his tousled head of hair. Harley dipped two delicate fingers into the white paint, and after mixing it around a bit, she brought her hand up, ready to apply it to his face.

Apparently the men in the front either noticed it was too quiet, or heard the unscrewing of the lids, because the driver went to look at the man and the woman in the back via the rearview mirror, while the man in the passenger seat looked at them much less subtly, by twisting his head around.

"Whattya doin'?" He wondered, staring at the greasepaint in her hands, and then to what he could see of the man's face. "Trying to look like th'boss? S'good Idea, I guess. But that's what the _masks_ are for." And then he pointed to his own mask, as if they hadn't noticed it until just then.

When he turned back to the front, Harley returned her attention back to the man across from her, a contemplative look on her face as she studied his.

"Any particular look you're going for today, sweetie?" She asked in a voice much unlike her own; more nasally and high.

The man across from her looked mildly surprised for only a moment, before his black eyes rolled to the side, considering her question.

"I want a…_natural_, look." He finally decided, staring down at her manicured fingers as she dipped them into the paint. "I want to look, ahm, _good_, but you can't make it too obvious I'm wearing make-up, _alright_? I don't want to look like a…_cake_ face."

Harley giggled quietly, before crossing her legs and facing him at a better angle. "The natural look, eh? No worries. When I'm done, you'll look absolutely _fabulous_, honey. Nobody will even recognize you."

And then Harley finally put her white tipped fingers on his face, smearing white over peach as she worked, her painted fingers trailing over his smiling cheek as his low cackle filled the car.

The two in the front could only exchange confused glances from behind their masks as the two in the back laughed, before Gotham National Bank came into view.

They came to another screeching halt in front of the bank, and Harley looked to the man beside her, watching him as he dug through his various assortment of guns. His mask was back on, hiding the make-up job she had just done, and she was about to do the same.

Though after catching her reflection in the rear-view mirror, Harley considered her own make-up job. White paint on the face, like him, but that was where the similarities stopped. On her cheeks was a light pink blush, and her lips were coated in the same black that he wore on his eyes. Her eyes were relatively plain when compared to his, only wearing a bit of mascara, and red eye-shadow. Harley was soon pulled out of her personal assessment when the pouty-masked man beside her threw a semi-automatic pistol into her lap, and she quickly snapped out of it, sliding her half and half mask over her face.

They all ran out of the vehicle quickly, and the two men who had been sitting in the front (who Harley had now dubbed as Happy and Grumpy) ran in first, firing off rounds as soon as they entered. Harley pulled the duffel bag out of the back seat, and already knowing it would be too heavy for her, prepared to toss it to the other man, but he beat her to it, pulling the strap off of her shoulder and putting it onto his own.

By the time they both entered the bank, everybody was already on the ground, some wailing in fear, some too scared to even breathe. As soon as the man she was with put the duffel bag on one of the counters, he pulled out a handful of grenades and handed them to her, and took the rest—duffel bag and all—for himself. She followed his lead, watching as he pulled the pin out and put them into civilians shaking hands.

It was her first major job, and Harley looked around frantically, trying to stay calm, but wondering if any police had shown up. She knew it was impossible—it was too soon and they had just got here, but she was paranoid. Clenching her semi-automatic calmed her down though, which was ironic, considering it did the exact opposite for all of the civilians in the bank.

Grumpy took out a security guard then, screaming for everybody to stay on the ground. Harley ignored the commotion as she put the last few of her grenades into unstable hands.

Whether they were actual grenades or not, she didn't know. The man in the pouty-mask didn't care if he lived or died, but Harley still doubted he would give them ready to explode grenades. _They're probably just filled with gas_, Harley thought to herself as she watched people desperately trying to hold still, though she wasn't sure if she actually thought that, or if she was just reassuring herself.

A gunshot boomed through the room then, and judging by how loud it was, Harley knew it was a shotgun. Pouty and Happy both got behind desks, while Harley somersaulted out of the way and out of view. The man with the shotgun shouldn't have been able to see her from where she was, and desperately, she hoped he might not shoot at her because she was a girl. Men were like that. Well, all men but _him_.

With only a semi, Harley could only watch from where she was as the defender with the shotgun began shooting at them, screaming "You have any idea who you're _stealing_ from? You and you're friends are _dead!_"

Harley watched the scene unravel in anticipation, and stupidly enough, for some reason, Happy came out then and began firing. As expected, he was shot, but Harley couldn't really bring herself to care. The assailant reloaded then, and seeing he had more bullets, Harley panicked.

"Please, _don't shoot me_!" She screeched from where she was, doing her best to sound terrified and frantic, yet feminine. It worked. The man with the shotgun turned upon hearing her voice, and in the next second was gunned down by _him_, who only cocked his head to the side as he stared curiously at his limp form. He then looked up for Harley, who ran over to him.

"Where did you learn to count?!" Happy suddenly yelled, appearing out of nowhere, but seeming fine. _Thought he got shot_, Harley couldn't help but think. Not that it mattered either way. The pouty-masked man only spared him a glance, and then Happy was gone, off to get the money.

The two of them said nothing; Harley only watched as he looked around the bank, as if he just noticed all of the frightened hostages. There was something so childish about him—you'd think he was a little boy walking through a magical forest in wonder, not a grown man walking through a bank full of terrorized people. She couldn't help but smile.

Happy returned then, dragging various duffel bags full of money along with him. Harley imagined that the face behind his mask probably looked very similar to the mask itself right about now.

"That's a lot of money," Happy observed, as Pouty began dragging the money-filled duffel bags into one pile on the floor. Inappropriately, Harley couldn't help but admire his strong arms and back as he did so. "If this Joker guy was so smart he'd a had us bring a bigger car."

As soon as Happy finished that sentence, he cocked his gun and pointed it at the other man, and Harley wasn't exactly surprised, but she was still outraged. Cocking her own gun, she trained it on him as well. Happy seemed to have forgotten she was there, because now he was pointing the gun between the both of them.

"I'm bettin' the Joker told you to kill me as soon as we loaded the cash," He accused, and a twinge of sympathy shot through Harley when she saw that his hands were shaking. He only feared for his life. She lowered her own gun, knowing full well that he wasn't going to shoot them, and they weren't going to shoot him.

"_No_, no, no, no. I kill the _bus_ driver." The man with the gun trained on him said as he stared at his watch. He grabbed Harley with a leather-gloved hand, sidestepping slowly to the right.

"Bus driver?" Happy asked, and he and Harley only sidestepped once more in response.

"_What bus driver?!_"

Happy's question was quickly answered when a bus came crashing through the wall, and Pouty stepped back, yanking a stunned Harley back along with him.

"School's out," The infamous bus driver said from behind his clown mask, hopping down and immediately taking notice of the man he just hit.

"That guy's not getting' up, is he?" He chuckled, and Pouty only responded by throwing a duffel bag into his chest. Harley moved to help, but A) the duffel bags were most likely too heavy for her, and B) they were already handling it. What was she going to do? Give a duffel bag to one, to give to the other, to put into the bus? And so Harley only stood there, looking back at the hostages who looked very confused and terrified.

The driver admired how much money was there, and then looked towards Harley. It seemed to sink in that she was the only other person still there besides Pouty, and he asked the inevitable: "What happened to the rest of the guys?"

He barely finished his sentence before the man in the pouty clown mask, _without looking_, distractedly shot him. Harley found herself admiring how cool he was then, which even she (or her inner psychologist) admitted was a little messed up, considering just moments before she had been feeling sorry for Happy, yet now felt nothing.

Her sympathy, she noticed, seemed to come at random intervals. Maybe she only felt bad for Happy because of how visibly frightened he was. Or maybe she just didn't feel bad for the bus driver, because Pouty's coolness overpowered whatever else was going on. Harley smiled at the thought and helped the last alive masked man pick up the few remaining duffel bags.

She couldn't see his expression from behind his mask, but by the way he looked down at her with his head slightly tilted, she knew she was amusing him with her struggle. She finally got it, however, and climbed into the back of the bus triumphantly.

The man in the mask was about to climb in after her, when the man who had shot Grumpy with the shot gun instigated him, calling out in a strained voice: "Think you're smart, _huh_?"

Inside the school bus and leaning over the seat to watch, Harley almost buried her face in her hands, wanting to cringe. _Men_, she couldn't help thinking. If he had just played dead, they both would have just left him alive. But apparently his high testosterone level wouldn't allow him to just play dead after getting defeated, and Pouty's high testosterone level wouldn't allow him to just walk away.

_Men_, Harley repeated, wondering what the man in the pouty clown mask was going to do to him.

"…Criminals in this town used to believe in things: Honor, res_pect_...Look at you…What do _you_ believe in, _huh_?" The man shouted the question once more, but was cut off when the masked man stuck one of the grenades in the man's mouth.

"I believe, whatever doesn't _kill _you, simply makes you…_stranger_." And then he pulled off his mask, most likely to scare the crap out of the guy. It got the desired effect, and the poor guys eyes popped right out of his head at the sight, and if it wasn't for the fact that he had to keep that grenade in his mouth, his mouth would probably be hanging open.

Harley watched with half lidded eyes as the Joker swaggered away from the man, swinging the stolen shotgun at his hip as he did so, an invisible wire attaching him to the man on the ground. He hopped into the bus, slamming the door shut behind him, and Harley kept her eyes on the paper thin wire that was now stuck in the closed door.

She had to pry her attention away from it, though, and duck when the Joker began hopping across the seats to make his way towards the driver's seat, but once he passed, she turned around and looked back to the man on the blood stained floor. To be honest, she didn't really care whether that man lived or not, she was only watching with such interest because she wanted to know if the grenades really _did_ explode, or it was, like she had hypothesized, some sort of gas.

The pin popped out of the grenade as the Joker drove away, and soon after a spray of grey gas puffed into the man's face, and Harley wondered if it was just poisonous, or just some sort of harmless gas to scare him. If they showed his pictures on the news the next morning, she'd have her answer.

As they drove out of the bank, camouflaged in a sea of other school buses, Harley couldn't help but smile underneath her mask when she imagined what the other school buses would think if they knew the Joker was amidst them. She had to give the man his well deserved recognition, though—he had managed to get rid of _everyone _(besides her, of course. Not that she knew why), saving time and energy by getting them to kill each other off on their own, and now seamlessly disappeared and got away scot free. He was brilliant, though she wouldn't tell him that. His ego was big enough as it was.

Joker didn't stay with the pack of school buses for long (and for obvious reasons) and quickly swerved off and onto another road as soon as he got the chance. Harley scrambled to the front, keeping look out for any cop cars, and when they came to a stop sign, the Joker looked up at her from the corner of his eye. The next second his hand was on her face, and he pulled her mask off, throwing it behind him, where it landed on one of the seats.

Harley was about to tease him by asking him what was wrong, considering _he_ was the one who had picked out the masks, but instead went to go silently sit behind him by a few seats. After a harsh turn a few moments later, however, she was on the opposite side of the bus.

"Damn it," She announced, thankful she managed to shield her face from the hit when she collided with the opposite wall. Some of the white make up from her face made a print on the window. "Never understood why school buses don't have seatbelts. Why is that?" Harley asked, genuinely curious, though not expecting an answer. She had always meant to Google it, but never got around to it.

The Joker only shrugged as he took another sharp turn, though he seemed to think about it for a second. At last, all he came up with was: "Well, _every_body hates kids."

Harley burst out laughing at the unexpected response, and the Joker looked pleased with himself as he parked in one of the shadier parts of Gotham. He had a few bases that he resided in throughout certain areas inside and outside of Gotham, one being the main, preferred one (especially since that's where most of Harley's stuff was, at the moment) but right now they were parked in front of an unfamiliar building.

"Good thing you hate school buses so much. Time to move," he ordered, picking up two duffel bags per hand, and Harley tried not to gape at him. She barely managed to pick up one with both arms. The Joker had managed to make a couple of trips back and forth by the time she had placed only her second duffel bag on the sidewalk. Harley didn't miss the look he was giving her, and he didn't even _need_ to chirp her—if a picture was worth a thousand words, then his expression was worth a million.

They looked a little odd, a man and a woman both in clown make-up, a pile of duffel bags at their feet, as they stood looking about aimlessly. Harley grew impatient, and finally turned to him. "What are we waiting for?" She had thought they were going to go into the shady building behind them, but that was clearly not the case.

"Transpor_tation_," He said simply, and dropped down to sit on one of the duffel bags. He looked so relaxed, as if he had just gotten back from the movies, and not stealing from the Mob. Harley paced for a bit out of nervousness, but finally sat beside him on another duffel bag. One of the Joker's black irises rolled to the side to look at her.

"Nervous?" was all he asked, and Harley almost wanted to laugh.

"No, of _course_ not. I'm totally used to going from waking up at 8am and going to work at the Asylum—where I realize now you should _definitely_ still be—, to waking up at 8am to rob a bank." The Joker only raised his eyebrows at her as she rambled, and eventually turned to look away from her, letting her deal with her woman hormones on her own.

After a few moments of silence and the cold air blowing strands of hair across her face, Harley turned her blue eyes up to look at the always grey sky of Gotham. "That was fun." she admitted, holding her white face in her hands, all the while still looking at the sky and refusing to look at him. Though, after a few seconds of silence, she turned to look at the Joker from the corner of her eyes.

Seeing her look over at him with such innocent eyes after admitting that robbing a bank, witnessing a few murders, and holding hostages had been _fun_, was enough for him to lose it and the Joker howled with laughter, his deranged cackles filling the abandoned curb they were sitting at. Hearing her voice as she questioned him for laughing only made him laugh harder, and soon his head was in between his knees, practically sobbing.

Harley gave up on trying to speak to him, realizing for some reason that her presence was somehow fueling the laughter, and so when his laughter died down to giggles, and his giggled faded away into nothing, she ventured another look at him.

"Jokes _aside_, gotta say doll, I was, uh, _impressed_ with the improv today. Y'know, the screaming. Guess there are some per_k_s to having a…di-_verse _gender selection—"He paused to click his tongue, giving her a knowing look as he did so. "Because y'know, if that was one of the _guys_ screaming, he wouldn't have even flinched." And then the Joker smacked his lips, and Harley could tell he was recalling the scene in his head—most likely recalling the part where he had shot him, and reveling in it.

Still, Harley accepted the compliment, thrilled at the mere concept of sitting beside this man when he had killed so many. It made her feel special. Protected. "On the downside, looks like you're gonna have to split this two ways, now." She was going to add 'should _have shot me when you had the chance_' but was afraid he might take it seriously. What was that she just thought about feeling protected?

The Joker only offered a low chuckle in response, and a moment later, hummed. Harley looked at him, and he stood up, stepping on the money a few times. "_Nah_… I've got much better things in mind for this money. Ah, remind me to get marshmallows later."

Harley raised a slim eyebrow, about to ask him what the hell he was talking about, but a car crept up then, and the Joker waved to it with the hand that held his gun, most likely intentionally. This time the driver wasn't wearing a clown mask, Harley noted thankfully. She realized the necessity of the masks, since the Joker was obviously too flashy for the typical ski masks…but those clown ones were just creepy.

The Joker opened the trunk of the car, and Harley made her way over to the duffel bags of money, but the Joker grabbed her forearm, jerking her to a stop. Harley looked up at him, half fearful, half curious, and he let go of her arm to point to the car. "_You_. In the car." And then the Joker pointed to the driver, gesturing for him to come out and help load the car instead. Harley scrunched her face up, not objecting (although she would've liked to), and climbed into the back of the car silently.

She knew he wasn't being a _gentleman_ by getting the other man to help do the heavy lifting instead of her—hell, if she were stronger, he'd probably sit back and make her lift all of them. But he was fairly impatient, and she had seen the looks he was giving her when he had to wait for her to lug the duffel bags over. Once Harley heard the trunk door slam, it wasn't long before the two entered the car, both of the men in the front and Harley with the back to herself.

"Where to?" The driver asked, and Harley couldn't help but wonder if he was some sort of taxi for Gotham's villains, but got rid of the ridiculous idea as soon as it had arrived.

"Just…drive. I'll be your _hummble_ guide." The Joker responded, hopping slightly in his chair as he adjusted to how close the seat was pushed up. His legs were too long to fit in the confined area, and after a bit of squirming and adjusting the seat, he finally gave up and clambered to the back, shoving Harley out of the way a bit as he got comfortable with his new found legroom.

Harley felt the Joker staring at her, but refused to look at him, considering the last time he had begun laughing at her hysterically as soon as she did so.

To break the awkward silence, and also to satisfy her own curiosity, Harley twiddled her thumbs a bit, before asking: "Where are we going?"

She was still not looking at the Joker; instead, her eyes were fixed on the back of the driver's balding head as they sped through Gotham. Finally growing annoyed at his lack of answer, Harley turned to ask him again, but as soon as she craned her neck to look at him, his black gloved hand was in her face, pressing some ratty cloth against her nose and mouth so that she couldn't breathe. What was he doing? Was he going to kill her? Why here, and now? All of these questions raced through her head, and she was sure the Joker could hear them as their light and dark eyes stared each other down, but in no time at all her eyelids fluttered closed, the blues of her eyes replaced by whites.

* * *

When Harley awoke, the first thing that she was aware of was the smell. She hadn't yet opened her eyes, or become aware of her surroundings yet (visually, at least), but she still knew where she was. All of the hideouts that the Joker has taken her to have all had…_distinct,_ smells, to say the least. This one—_the main one_,—she thought thankfully, smelled like wood-chips, baked goods (there was a bakery not too far away) and, of course, the decay.

Harley's eyes fluttered opened slowly, her black eyelashes the curtains, opening to reveal the crystal blue beneath. She was grateful that the lights were off—she could already tell she was going to have one hell of a headache, and waking up to the fluorescent lights that plagued certain rooms of the hideout would not be a welcome sight. Harley recounted immediately what had happened: she had asked him where they were going, and he responded by, oh so graciously, chloroforming her. Oddly enough, Harley was neither outraged nor surprised, the only thing going through her head being_, does he always keep chloroform on him_?

Besides, did she even have the right to be angry with him? He could kill her any moment—no doubt he's thought about it. It was a miracle she was still alive. Who else could say they had slept in the same bed as the Joker? Or, hell, even _seen_ him sleep in general?

Harley got up slowly, the creaking of the bed echoing through the room, and she looked around at all of the belongings that littered her room. "_Her"_ room was used loosely. She had more or less claimed this room with a bed in it (she wouldn't quite call it a bedroom) and brought her stuff into it, and eventually it just began to pile up. Most considered it her room at this point, but it wasn't enough her room that she'd have the right to kick somebody out who was sleeping in it. The Joker, on the other hand, really had no room to speak of. He either slept on any slightly comfy surface available—the couch, a rickety old bed, "her" bed, a chair…

It didn't take long for Harley to find him. He was downstairs, watching the news as he moved about the warehouse, a few random henchmen scattered about here and there. The Joker, despite being fully drawn to the T.V, was still moving about and functioning perfectly as he threw bags together, stockpiled some of his knives together, and lifted up couch cushions for extra ammo. Harley stood at the stairs, watching him with an amused expression for a bit before making her presence known thanks to the creaky stairs.

Every henchman in the room turned to look at her as she neared the bottom, yet the Joker continued watching only the T.V. He was still in the clothes they had worn to the robbery: a dull purple (or was it grey?) blazer, a pale blue-grey patterned collared shirt, and casual dress pants, which were the same colour as his jacket. As for Harley, she, too, was obviously still in the same clothes she had been wearing: a black cardigan, the sleeves ending around her elbows, a black tank top, (which exposed quite a lot of cleavage—the Joker had personally requested it. Not because he was particularly interested in the "sexiness" of it, but because he liked the odd, almost disturbing combination of the feminine body, along with the hideous clown mask she had worn), and bright red tights and black flats, which made it easier for her to move around.

Harley just barely managed to see what was on the news before it cut to break: scared hostages from the bank scene, recounting what had happened in shaky voices. The female news anchor announced that they would be having a memorial for the two who were lost in the encounter. That man with the shotgun, and the guard that Grumpy had killed, if Harley recalled.

Only two, though? Harley smiled with disgust, realizing that they were ignoring the Joker's dead men who had been littered all over the area. What happened to the social norm being "no life is worth more than another"? Well, apparently _their_ lives weren't worth enough to be included into the body count. It cut to commercial, and as soon as it did, the Joker's head snapped to her, like a dog spotting a squirrel.

"Goood _morning_, sunshine," The Joker greeted once Harley reached the same ground level as the rest of them. Harley was the one to ignore him this time, and noted that the slight sun coming through the cracks did indeed look like morning sunshine. She managed to catch sight of herself in the reflection of the glass cupboard (which was the nicest thing in the place, and even _it_ was stained and cracked) which held random knickknacks that the Joker had found amusing at one point.

The first thing she noticed was her hair. After no doubt being jostled around and manhandled from location to location, her pigtails were a mess; if you could even call them pigtails anymore. Harley took them out, ruffling her blonde locks a bit in an attempt to tame the mess that was her hair. Her make-up was relatively okay. The white was faded, so that her peachy skin showed from beneath. The red eye-shadow and mascara was still present, if a little smudged, and her once stark black lips were now dark grey stains.

The Joker interrupted Harley's self evaluation, grabbing her face in one hand, mashing her cheeks together as he turned to make her look at him. "How're ya doin', toots?" he inquired, though it was his fault she had been unconscious in the first place.

"fine," Harley managed to say between squashed cheeks, and the Joker grinned, enjoying the struggle of watching her talk with her face all bunched up. As usual, though, he got bored fast, and lightly smacked her cheek before walking back to the general direction of the TV.

"What time is it?" Harley asked, wanting to gather her bearings before asking _why_, exactly, he knocked her out. Could just be that it amused him.

The Joker didn't bother answering her—too mundane of a question, probably—and so Harley was left hanging, until one of the henchmen was kind enough to look at his watch, and mumble a quick "'Bout 7:32am."

Harley nodded her thanks and looked over to him, recognizing him. She forgot his name, but he was a huge conspiracy theorist, hence probably why he was with the Joker. She had spoken to him a few times, only to find him insufferable. One of the most annoying conversations of her life had been one with him, where he told her he thought all painkillers were just Placebo's. Even after patiently explaining how different painkillers worked and how she had gone to school _specifically_ to know that, he still didn't care. She was surprised the Joker had kept him alive so long, to be honest.

"And why did you knock me out?" Harley asked, arms crossed, her question sounding more like an accusation than anything. The Joker stopped what he was doing and clicked his tongue a few times, as if recalling exactly why indeed.

"Had to stash that money away, and we couldn't have you knowing where it is, now, could we?" He said simply, kicking a couple of boxes out of the way as he maneuvered around the cluttered room.

Harley was slightly taken aback at this. She was offended, sure, but more than anything, genuinely surprised. "You don't trust me?" She asked in a high pitched voice of curiosity. She had thought she already made her loyalty to him perfectly clear after she had broken him out of Arkham. He would trust these henchmen to know the location, and not her? Or did he get the guy who picked them up to drive him to the destination, and then kill him?

_Probably._

"Now, now, _nownownow_. Stop right there. Don't just go…_assuming_ stuff. It's not that I don't, uh, _trust_? You," The Joker explained, his face scrunching up in distaste as if he was telling her that he didn't like the shirt she was wearing. "I just don't trust that you won't break under pressure. Y'see, those fine—ahem—_gentlemen_ in the Mob, _don't _exactly appreciate me taking their things. If they happen to get their hands on _you_," and he made frantic grasping movements with his gloved hands, and began walking all over the place again, "Then, uh, see how that could be _bad_? For now, nobody knows…but me."

Harley nodded in understanding, before jerking a thumb to the news anchor currently spewing out a string of tragedies and horrifying stories. "Well, _they_ all claim that I'm a masochist. So, who knows," –_slight shrug_—"Maybe I'd like the torture."

The Joker, who was throwing left over duffel bags around like trash, stopped to look at her suddenly, as if she were an alien. And then he laughed; that laugh which was so familiar, so recognizable, yet came in so many different tunes.

And then he threw the duffel bag that was strapped over his shoulder to her, and it collided with her chest with an '_oof_', but she managed to catch it. The Joker waggled at it with his index finger, pointing to it distractedly as he turned to pick up some other items strewn about. "Grab as much money from there as you can carry." He told her, and Harley opened the bag to find piles upon piles of money.

"Didn't you drop the money off at some _undisclosed_ location?" Harley asked, though she still obeyed what he said, grabbing a few stacks and placing them here and there. Thanks to her lack of pockets, she had to improvise, and so she stuck wads in the waist of her tights, her bra, and the tiny pockets of her cardigan. She probably had enough to buy a car.

The Joker, who was busy loading himself with cash as well, stuffed a few wads in the waist of his own pants, before telling her that 'this was for their hard work.' Harley didn't complain, and once they were both done, they were filled to the brim with money.

"So where are we going, anyway?" Harley finally decided to ask, shifting uncomfortably as the money itched against her bare skin. The Joker opened the door to the warehouse, putting on an over exaggerated show of letting her go first and doing a fancy hand motion as she passed, closing the door behind both of them with his leg as they walked over to one of their many black vans.

"Shopping," He said simply, and it sounded so odd coming from him that Harley couldn't hold the small chuckle she had to let out as she slipped into the passenger's side of the van. The Joker only looked at her sideways before speeding off and into the direction of the town.

* * *

"There," Harley said with satisfaction, throwing the white, red, and black stained and wet tissues to the side. She held up a mirror for him, and he turned his face at all angles, reviewing his reflection. "Good enough," He agreed, feeling his plain, no-make up face.

The two sat in the back of the van, parked outside of some super fancy and expensive clothing boutique in downtown Gotham. It was still early—around 8:15 am, and stores were just beginning to open, some even still closed, and so now was the best time for the two to hit the town.

Harley had asked why they wouldn't just go in and steal what they wanted, but the Joker had insisted that it wouldn't _work_, and accused Harley of lacking finesse. Harley had snorted at that, but was relieved they were going to go shop like civilized human beings; it had certainly been a long while since she had gotten the chance, and if they just ran in, guns a blazin', she wouldn't have time to browse.

How recognizable they would be, even without the make-up, was anybody's guess. The bank robbery was all over the news, and they didn't have any spare outfits. The Joker had simply taken off his blazer, and tousled his hair so that most of the green was hidden, and what was left of the dirty blonde sat on top.

As for Harley, all she really had to do was put her hair into a high ponytail, tie her cardigan pompously around her shoulders, and she went from being bank robber, to snobby tennis player.

The Joker's scars couldn't be hidden, of course, but the transformation without the make-up was still quite amazing. Sure, he still looked like the Joker (if you looked close enough) due to his scars and the dark, permanent circles around his eyes, but as long as he kept his head down and let Harley handle the shop owner, he insisted they'd be fine.

"Just stole millions from the Mob; can't show ourselves too soon," he expanded, when Harley was still baffled by his willingness to go in civilly. That made more sense, but it was still weird. While she was taking his make-up off, she had cracked up a few times imagining him holding her bags, or fussing about in the change room.

"Time to go, beautiful." He said shortly, picking himself up off of the floor of the van and hurrying into the store.

"Right behind you, handsome." Harley responded, following behind him. It felt weird calling him something like handsome, but his usual description didn't exactly fit him right now.

The woman behind the counter welcomed them immediately, asking what they were looking for. This wasn't really a store where you browsed for something casual, Harley noticed, due to how fancy it was. The clerk tried to guess, listing off wedding, bah mitzvah, and other special occasions before Harley told her "Las Vegas."

Given, she didn't actually know what they were here for, but she knew the Joker was bound to pick something flashy—something that most likely wouldn't suit a wedding, or bah mitzvah, or anything else she was about to suggest. Harley heard the Joker snort from somewhere in the store, and the clinking of metal as he moved the clothes hangers. Harley wasted no time either, ignoring the prying eyes of the shopkeeper as she browsed.

Something caught her eye immediately: a blue, ruffle dress with many layers, some getting longer at the back, and some shorter at the front. Harley knew better than to go and buy it, though, and found the Joker in the men's suit isle, looking around absently. As he heard her approach he only half turned around, his eyes moving up and down the dress, before he returned his full gaze to the men's wear.

"No, no, _no_, that won't do," He told her, though she wasn't sure if she was still talking to her. Then he turned around fully, holding the dress himself and flapping it around. "You need something…_red_. And black. The colours of my Harlequin. Ca_piche_?"

Harley only nodded numbly, not bothering to put the dress back in the right area and setting it down on a dress pants stand.

Red and Black. That narrowed it down, making her job easier, but she still browsed for quite some time, and was surprised that the Joker wasn't done yet, either, and hadn't come to get her.

It took a while of sifting through tacky, Gothic red and black dresses, but finally, she found it.

The main colour of the dress was red, and it wasn't exactly low cut, but you could still see some chest, though only about two or three centimeters of cleavage was showing. The cut looked almost like a diamond, Harley noted, and did a twirl as she looked in the mirror. The straps went around her neck, revealing some of her back, but not getting _much_ lower than her shoulder blades. The top half was fairly tight, and where the puffiness of the bottom and the tightness of the top met at her waist, there were intricate ruffles, bows, and ribbons, all layered in different shades of red. At the back, the layers and bows were still near her waist, but unlike the front, two tail-coat tails hung out, ending just a bit before the actual length of the dress did, which stopped just above her knees. The end of the dress was also slightly frilly and lacy, resembling a doily.

It wasn't all red and variations of the colour, however; lining the cut near the chest was a thin, white lace that went all around her back, which was also present on the tails, the waist area, and a bit at the bottom of the dress. And outlining the white (only at the bottom) was an even thinner layer of black lace, adding more depth. A slit in the dress also cut through and up to her upper thigh on the left side, which Harley preferred to be gone, but loved it nonetheless.

Once it was on, Harley didn't want to take it off. There was too much red, however, and she looked around for any black or white accessories. Harley wasn't surprised when she found a pair of white gloves, considering the caliber of the store they were in, and slipped them on. _Nice_, Harley thought, backing up a bit to see the whole thing. Besides the tiny bit of outlining black lace, though, there was no more of that shade. And so Harley scavenged around, and after coming to the decision that all the black accessories were too tacky (black rose hairpin, fishnet gloves, mini top-hat) she settled for a pair of black tights. The tights fixed the slit in the dress problem for her, at least, and she twirled again, desperately hoping the Joker would approve.

Harley's eyes found a bin of shoes that were on clearance (not that it mattered, due to the copious amounts of money they had) and spotted two pairs of flats, one pair red and topped with a bow, while the other pair was identical, except in black. Harley decided to take one of each: one foot red, the other black.

Given, this wouldn't be her new "default" outfit—she much preferred less constricting clothes, like the spandex Harlequin costume she had stolen for the Joker's sake. Not only was that comfortable and easy to move around in, but it always got a chuckle out of him. But this dress, _this _had to be reserved for special occasions. Like, say, murdering a mayor at his own party, or crashing a Bruce Wayne fundraiser.

As she examined herself in the mirror once more, Harley was pleased to see that some of her leftover make-up was still on, adding to the outfit. She couldn't help but think that the outfit would look wonderful if she had on her white face, rosy cheeks, black eye mask and black mouth. But, her imagination sufficed, and the Joker would have to kill her before he stopped her from buying the dress.

"Oh _my_!" The saleswoman gasped, and Harley spun, wondering for a split second if it had finally clicked, and she had recognized the two. Once she saw the ladies eyes on her outfit, however, Harley did a little curtsy for her, lifting up the tails as she did so.

"You look lovely!" The lady squealed, most likely mandatorily, but Harley still couldn't help but agree, and at least pretended that the lady was being earnest. "I think so, too," Harley admitted, and sought after the Joker, knowing he could only be one place.

When she turned the corner to the men's area, it seemed he had finished up, as well, and they both nearly collided into each other. Harley was eye to eye with his neck due to their height difference, and they both took a step back to appraise the other.

He looked exactly as she had expected him to—sharp, flashy, theatrical…She knew the suit would be soiled with blood and dirt soon, and so she took the time to admire him in the crisp, clean, suit for as long as she could.

The undershirt was a blue-grey colour, much like the last, and he had chosen the most random tie that was available; dark green with some gold splotches here and there, and some other lines. He also picked out a mossy green waistcoat, and on top of that, a long, purple jacket that reached to about the middle of his calves, which matched his new pair of purple, leather gloves. It appeared he stuck to his colour scheme, as well, and Harley couldn't wait till she saw him in it, make up and all.

Once she was done looking over his outfit, her eyes traveled up to the Joker's face, which still appeared to be looking over every nook and cranny of her own. Suddenly he raised his hand, doing a twirling motion with his index finger, and Harley held out the tails like she had for the saleswoman, doing a dainty turn.

After what seemed like a decade of his dark eyes frantically jumping from place to place all over her body, he finally became animated again, walking past her.

"My cash is still in my clothes. I'll, ah, be in the van." And then he left, and Harley watched in awe as he hopped back into the van.

As soon as the door shut, she jumped around in silent celebration. That was a yes! The saleslady, who had an odd look on her face, snapped out of it when Harley approached with both of their clothes bundled up in her hand, throwing all of the money they had managed to bring onto the counter. Whatever traces of that weird expression the clerk had on was completely gone by the time she saw all of the money.

Coming from a small town, Harley gasped in outrage when she heard the price, and was about to go into bargain mode from instinct, before she quickly remembered that it wouldn't be a problem, considering her boyfriend had just robbed the Mob blind.

Walking out of the store with both of their old clothes in hand, she managed to catch sight of the clock as she walked out. 9:12. it didn't take them too long, by normal standards, but she had expected the Joker to be in and out, rushing her the whole time. _I guess perfection takes time_, she half-joked, climbing into the van after him.

He was already reapplying his make-up again, tilting his head back as he looked into the rear-view mirror, putting the finishing touches of blood red on his scarred mouth. Harley watched him for a moment, before dropping both of their old outfits somewhere in the van.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what exactly are we dressing up for?" She wondered, sitting down in the passenger seat and twisting to look at him as he haphazardly threw the greasepaint container behind him.

The Joker got up and crouched, slinking into the driver's seat and looked over her dress once more as he put his key into the ignition.

"We've got a date with the Mob."

* * *

**Harleys dress:  
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oi45  
.tinypic  
.com  
/1to36b  
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(sorry for the weird spacing/format. Only way I could get it to work. Just paste it into your address bar in that order. ^^;)


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